w4w: Seeking Social Circle

Loser-y as it sounds, the worst thing about Nashville is not having a life. Somehow it's just harder to meet people here, harder than it was in NYC. So in an act of extreme desperation (it's that or buying a cage for Clark), I am going to post an ad on the Nashville Craig's List in the "strictly platonic" section. I'm not sure anyone in Nashville even reads CL (it's totally dead compared to the NYC CL). I suppose I'm about to find out.

Favorite Southern Story to Date

It's always a shock moving to a new place. What's shocking is that you don't really know what to expect. For instance, I would have never anticipated the conversation I'm about to describe.

I am terrified of getting pregnant again. That's just the honest truth. Absolutely. Terrified. Clark is now two, and is a complete horror who takes up all my time, and I just couldn't face months vomiting and sleeping AND trying to care for Clark. And then dealing with a newborn all over again....PLUS Clark? Like I said, terrified. Of course, this terror of pregnancy hasn't dimmed my sex drive, and despite having an IUD, I still occasionally think I'm preggers. I'll wake up one morning, and my stomach will feel a little funny, and immediately, I'm certain it's morning sickness and that it's all starting over again. Or I'll feel a little flutter in my stomach, and just know that I'm quickening, and somehow am months and months into pregnancy. I realize this sounds insane, but yes, motherhood has brought me here and there's no turning back. Anyway, there's a quick remedy for this form of paranoia: a pregnancy test. I keep a couple around so whenever I get that burst of fear, I can pee on a stick and have unrefutable relief in two minutes.

Well, upon moving to Nashville, I didn't have my stash in the hotel room with me, and sure enough, I thought I was pregnant. It was, of course, terrible timing to be pregnant as we had just moved, the insurance on this new job wouldn't kick in for a few months, I didn't want another child anyway, etc. I tried to ignore it, because intellectually, I know that with the IUD, it's virtually impossible for me to be pregnant. Ignoring it doesn't work. I broke down and went to Wal-Greens.

At the drug store, I headed to the back, because usually the pregnancy tests are by the pharmacist's window with the condoms. I suppose they have to keep an eye on these things. I didn't see them, so I asked the pharmacist at the window where they kept the tests. He didn't know, so he shouted to the girls working in the back, "What aisle are the pregnancy tests on?" I cringed a little. Like I said, I buy these things a lot (women like me are the reason they sell multipacks), so I'm not terribly embarrassed about it, but I don't like my business being yelled across the store. I headed over to the appropriate place, and tried to decide which package to buy. There are no easy shopping decisions in an American drugstore. Like you can't just walk in and pick up shampoo (there is an entire aisle devoted to it), so you can't just walk in and pick up a pregnancy test. There are a variety of early response tests. This would be unneccesary for me, because I'd been attempting to ignore symptoms. It's not like I was worried about unprotected sex I had five days ago. So that narrowed it down to three shelves worth of product. I was busy texting my best friend Stephanie about hotels in Jacksonville, so between that and my indecision, I lingered in front of the tests for a ridiculously long time. A chipper employee came over, asking if I needed any help, and I gestured at the array of tests and said, "No, I found what I'm looking for." She immediately began staring at the floor and walked away mumbling. I couldn't believe that she was embarrassed! Don't people buy personal things at a drug store every day?

I finally selected a multipack of generic tests, and then remembered I also wanted to get some disposable spoons (great for the diaperbag). At the register, the cashier rang up the spoons, and then saw the tests. She froze, then clutched the box, looked me in the eye and asked, "Are you hoping for a yes or a no?" I became acutely aware of the fact that I had dashed out of the hotel room without putting on any jewelry, including my engagement ring and wedding band. Surprised by her nosy question, I tried to laugh it off and replied, "Well, I already have one and he's quite a handful!" She tried to look at my left hand (which I had conveniently stowed beneath my right), and gave me a look of pity. "I will pray that you get the answer you're hoping for."

She'll pray for me?! Pray for me? Ooooo-kayyyyy. I'm a Christian, I've got nothing against prayer, but I really like privacy. Or at least, courtesy. In New York, when I bought some, the woman who owned the store knew me and my family, and joked with me, "A little sister for your boy!" Fine. Fair enough. She knew me, my son, my husband, what kind of razor blades we buy and our sense of humor in birthday cards. If an older woman who knows me wants to congratulate me (however erroneously) on my pregnancy, okay. But if a girl my age is just gonna assume that because I walk into Wal-Greens alone and come to the register with a pack of pregnancy tests under some plastic spoons I must be a single swinger ignorant of birth control, or better yet--abstinence, then I'm going to be irritated. I felt like this was my "welcome to the South" moment.

Claro que si, I wasn't pregnant.

Long Overdue Update

I live in Nashville now. I suppose I am still technically in an urban area, but after New York, it feels small, and of course it's very different. I will now curse myself by saying that I plan to write regular entries now. Every time I read that on a friend's blog, it means they post faithfully for a week, and then quit. We shall see.

The Words

I love words. I have adored reading and writing since I first understood the concept. My mother says that as a baby, I had all my books memorized, and knew if someone tried to skip pages on me, and could recite them verbatim, and would pretend that I was reading. I began my journalling when I was four. But something has changed. I still love words, love the words, love stories, love descriptions of impossible things like emotions and experiences, but it seems as though I can no longer conjure and create with my beloved words. I feel as though I have failed, as though I claimed, "Language, I love you!" and then abandoned it. It makes me sad, and it makes me ache a little, and I just want it back. I miss the connections with people that words can bring, and I miss spending hours analyzing and dissecting, and I miss intellectual combat, and I miss feeling satisfied with my mind. Oh, I just miss it. I can no longer pour it all out onto a page. I need a person to be a reflection of myself, because I cannot see me accurately.

Church

It is not an easy task to find a church in Williamsburg. There are plenty of very traditional churches around, like Catholic ones, but not the sort of fun music, young people type place I was hoping to find--at least, they're not as physically prominent! So I did a google search, and found one that looked pretty good, and we went there today. It was great! Phew! There are lots of cool young mommies there, and to be totally honest, part of the reason I was so eager to find a church was to get a sense of community. Sure, I love God, but you can love God and ignore church. But church can be a great way to meet other nice people. And today, I met a couple of women who seemed smart, funny, and cool, and I can't wait to get to know them and their babies. Then maybe, just maybe, Brooklyn will begin to feel like home.

Working Woman

I saw no reason for both of us to be unemployed, so I thought I'd apply for some jobs. I think I'd be a good personal assistant, so I used Craig's List to dig up some ads, and applied to the most promising ones. I had an interview yesterday. You know what? It was my first ever job interview. I was a student, and then I was a mother--no career in there, no real jobs. Anyway--what the job interview showed me is that really what I want is some time on my own. Not necessarily a job, and not necessarily working for the person I met. This is so stupid, but it kinda hit me what a responsibility a job is, and how stressful it could be. That's my little story.

Email Update

Right after we moved into our sublet, I sent out an email to some friends containing a few first impressions. I thought I'd share that here as well.

So, we successfully moved to Brooklyn. There were a few frantic hours
back in Hillsdale where our belongings began to reproduce, and I
really believed we'd never empty the house, but it happened. Clark
was a little angel in the car. He either slept, looked out the
window, or played with toys the whole way--all eleven hours. No
screaming or endless fussing or a single tantrum. We arrived about
four in the afternoon yesterday, and were meeting Lucy, the woman
we're subletting from, at 7, so we got a parking spot right in front
of the building and walked around to get familiar with the
neighborhood. I was so relieved to actually see our street. It's
very clean, and the houses are really pretty, and lots of people even
have little gardens in the front. The neighborhood looks nice too. I
saw so many great shops in the little time we spent exploring--delis,
a fish market, Italian markets, butcher shops, green grocers,
bakeries--I can't wait to get settled in enough to start cooking with
all the fabulous ingredients I'll have at hand! We ate dinner at a
really yummy and very reasonably priced Thai place, and then headed
back to the apartment, even though it was really early.

We met Lucy, who is extremely friendly if a little all-over-the-place,
and she showed us her apartment. The rooms are much larger than I had
thought, and it's a bright and sunny place. Again, I was relieved
about that. I gotta say though, for the most part I can't stand her
taste. For instance, in the living room, there is a six foot by four
foot oil on canvas, a portrait of Elizabeth Taylor in turquoise and
black, with large red letters stenciled on saying "FUCK YOU." Not
ever something I would choose for my own home, I must say. Also on
the list of things I would not choose: the holograms in the bathroom
of women who are alternately clothed and naked depending on the angle,
and the porn star refrigerator magnets. I removed the holograms and
magnets, but Lucy warned us to be careful with the painting, as it was
worth $10,000, and it took a lot not to say, "But it swears at you
every day!"

Bob is returning the rental van right now, and Clark is napping, and
I'm desperately trying to ignore the giant f you on the wall and write
this email. All of our stuff is in piles on the floor, so after weeks
of packing, it is already time to unpack, but this time into somebody
else's apartment already full of their stuff. I really feel like we
are guests here, but there's no point in trying to make it home when
we're leaving in two months anyway. The weather is gross and rainy,
and I want it to clear up so that when Clark wakes up, we can go out
and buy food. He loves to be outside--he's never seen so many trucks
up close in his life, and it thrills him. There are also birds
everywhere, and people walking dogs--everything you could ask for to
entertain a toddler.

The Necessary Introductions, Apologies, and Explanations

I always thought I wouldn't have a blog. I've kept a handwritten journal since I was four years old, and I didn't really feel too much pressure to begin publishing my innermost thoughts--especially since I'm apt to whine about the people who are apt to read it. But then my life changed. I had a child. Now I want to reach out to and meet other moms. Also, we just moved to Brooklyn, NY, and my life got a whole lot more interesting and blogworthy. Hence, the blog. I think that "young urban mommy" sounds like "yummy," so that's where the name came from.

A little about me:

My name is Rachael, I'm 22, and currently a college drop-out. I was attending FSU, and then got married and transferred to Hillsdale College, where my husband taught. Then I discovered I was pregnant, and went in the next day and dropped all my classes. Truth be told, I loathed HC and found it to be horribly subpar. I was so relieved to have a gracious excuse to quit!

A little about my husband:

Bob has a PhD from NYU, and taught economics for three years at HC, but now he's looking to make a career switch. That's why we moved to NYC. He wants to be a quant on Wall Street. We had a little money saved up, so we're gonna spend it giving this a try. Pretty exciting, eh?

A little about the baby:

Clark is 18 months old, and has the most gorgeous red curls. I mention this because if you ever saw him, it would be the first thing you notice. I can't even count how often we get comments and questions about that red hair, because I have dark brown hair, and my husband is blond. Clark is full of energy, and loves the city so far.

We are subletting a place in Williamsburg through July 15. So that gives us time to see how the whole job thing will go, and to see what area we'd want to live in more permanently. In the meantime, it seemed pointless for both of us to be unemployed, so I've been applying for personal assistant positions. The job ads sound remarkably like what I do as a housewife, frankly. I have an interview next week, wish me luck!